


It's Only Forever, Not Long at All...

by centenarian_bandersnatch



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ...kind of, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Ciri also has no idea what’s going on, Cirilla needs a hug too, Geralt has no idea what's going on, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Let's be honest, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining Jaskier, Presumed Dead, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Requited Unrequited Love, Roach, Timeline What Timeline, Witch Curses, Wolf Jaskier, and he doesn't like that, but she’s handling it better than Geralt, definitely not, the story isn't complete without Roach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:13:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centenarian_bandersnatch/pseuds/centenarian_bandersnatch
Summary: Maybe Jaskier shouldn't have gotten snippy with that random mage. But he had. So now here he is, desperately trying to outrun a Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 411





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Has this been well thought out? ...probably not. Am I making this up as I go along? Absolutely. Will they be out of character? Undoubtedly. I haven't read enough of the books or played the games enough to get a true feel for the characters yet. But I have the internet at my finger tips and a compulsiveness to type that must be obeyed. So we'll see how this goes.

* * *

_"I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens."_

_\- Woody Allen_

* * *

He woke slowly. 

Slowly and with a great deal of effort, for he ached in ways that he hadn’t since he first started traipsing after Geralt. Even then, it had never felt quite like _this._ Minutes, perhaps even an hour or two, passed as he lay there feeling the sun soothe the discomfort it could reach and with his eyes closed, the canopy above him roared like thunder in the wind. He must have drifted off again because it was the distinct _lack_ of noise that had his eyes flying open and like flint on bush grass the rest of his awareness came surging forth with a vengeance. 

Metal. That’s all he could smell. Cloying in its presence, he could feel his throat start to tighten because of it and as he stared at the remnants of his camp he realized that ‘metal’ was not the right word at all. No, _metallic_ . Yes, that was it. And almost warm, with an undertone that he couldn’t quite place. Several moments passed by as he stared blankly ahead. It shouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary. Looking at where he had been laying the night before shouldn’t have left him stunned for _any_ reason. But here he was, laying on the ground across the clearing he had chosen, across from where he _remembered_ going to sleep last night, looking at his scattered belongings. At his clothes spread across the ground. His notebook facedown on the grass. His lute had just, it had just been thrown aside. 

He was having trouble focusing. Why couldn’t he remember what had happened last night? Had the ground always been moving like this? It was twitching beneath like a, like something that twitched. It wasn’t normal. With a groan he pushed himself up off the ground and by Melitele was that the worse thing he could have done.

There was blood everywhere. Now that he wasn’t on the ground he could see it in all of its horrific glory. Was he breathing? He wasn’t sure anymore. He couldn’t be. Lack of air was clearly the only explanation as to why when he looked down at his hands, his hands weren’t there. Where his hands should have been were paws. Horrible, monstrous things that were probably the size of his _head_ they were so large and why wouldn’t he _wake up_ ? _Wake up Jaskier, wake up wake up-_

He stood. 

Did he?

His head said yes, but it didn’t feel right. 

The enormity of his situation was finally sinking in. He was alone in the woods and very much no longer human. A day’s walk from the nearest backwater town, which _didn’t matter_ because he wasn’t even _human_ -

The ground heaved and spun beneath him. Or maybe that first bit was just him. Closing his eyes he desperately tried to center himself. He was getting absolutely nowhere with his extended bout of hysteria. With the determination to start figuring things out he took a deep breath, then another, and maybe one more for good measure, before he started for his pack. Maybe there was some clue there, the disarray couldn’t be for nothing. This, of course, was all well and good before he actually took that first step because as he did so and his new limbs _sank_ into the torn up dirt around him with the faintest of nausea inducing _squelches_ , he very much wanted to curl up and ignore this utterly forsaken _nightmare_ he had stumbled into. 

He pressed on. Carefully making his way across the now shadowed clearing, the sun had passed to far over the trees by this point, he forced himself to carefully ignore just how...tiny his belongings were. After minimal stumbling, he was nothing if not a quick study, he eventually reached his bag. There wasn’t much left in it really by the looks of it. A ginger push at the bundle of clothing spilling out of the mouth of it revealed naught but a few trinkets and keepsakes. And so several minutes passed by with nothing but the quiet tinkering of metal to break up the silence around him. Inevitably, there came a point where there were only a handful of things remaining and he was forced to shove his head in to retrieve them. What was even worse than this indignity was that he knew they weren’t of any use. He _knew_ they couldn’t help him but surely something must be there. Something had to explain why he was like this, why he couldn’t remember. It had to, _it had to-_

A twig snapped nearby.

A twig snapped nearby and Jaskier froze with his teeth around a medallion and his head stuck in his satchel. He froze and several things occurred to him at once. The first, was that it was utterly silent and had been ever since he woke up that second time. A mere _month_ , on the road with a witcher had taught him that silence in the wilds was never a good sign. His next thought was that he doubted he’d be any sort of match against whatever was headed his way if it was anything other than, say, a rabbit. He’d only just grasped _walking_ after all. The most important thing that occurred to him, however, was that he should probably be able to _see_ whatever was approaching and having his head in a sack was not the best way to go about being prepared.

Pulling his head free was apparently easier said than done, who’d have thought that ears would get in the way so much, but he managed it. Managed it just in time to see one Geralt of Rivia, in all his meticulously armored glory, slowly shift branches out of his way as he stepped within the edges of Jaskier’s little clearing. With his eyes fixed on silver, an urge that he’d never felt before had Jaskier slowly sinking into the ground. Was he trying to hide? How odd was it to not being fully in control of one’s body. Odder still to feel this roiling... _something_ , in his chest when seeing his, well, perhaps acquaintance would be an acceptable term for Geralt. Not the word he’d prefer, but Geralt’s thoughts on his views were made quite clear nearly a year ago now weren’t they. 

_What was he staring at?_

Geralt certainly wasn’t looking at him and as a full minute passed of Jaskier watching a myriad of emotions flicker across Geralt’s usually so stoic face, he finally found it within himself to look towards what had managed to snare the Witcher’s attention to thoroughly.

 _Oh_.

Oh this wasn’t good.

It was the spot where he had woken up earlier that was under such intense scrutiny now and it, well… With the grass torn up and the dirt absolutely saturated with blood and _who knew what else_ , with pieces of the tree he’d been leaning against shredded and exposing the soft pulp inside...well ‘bloodbath’ didn’t quite seem to do the sight just.

In short, no. No, this wasn’t good _at all_.

Now Geralt had started to turn towards him because _of course_ he had seen him, what kind of _idiot_ was he to think that a witcher, of Geralt’s caliber no less, had been unaware of a random creature in close proximity to his person, but he ground to a halt when he saw Jaskier’s lute. And the longer Geralt’s eyes remained fixed the sorry state of the instrument, with a snapped string wrapping around the neck and ash from the nearby fire pit smeared across the body, the greater the weight that formed in his gut and throat became. How dare Geralt make him feel such sheer relief at finally seeing him again while also appearing at what could possibly be the _worst_ moment imaginable. But at least, at least he had a name for that feeling flooding through him now. For that manic energy starting to crackle through his veins. Because as the silver sword slipped from Geralt’s hand, landing with a muted thump on damp grass, and he turned to finally face Jaskier’s cowering and brown-blood stained form, with unparalleled _hatred_ in his eyes as the chilling ring of his steel sword being drawn sounded in the clearing, it was terror that Jaskier felt. An unbridled sort of terror because this was not his friend. This was not, not...this was a _witcher_. This was a Butcher with his prey within striking distance.

They stared at each other for a good while. Jaskier watching every unvoiced thought play across the Witcher’s face and Geralt practically snarling as he glared wrathfully down at him. It was with a shuddering breath that Geralt broke the silence.

“I find it in poor taste to hate the cat for killing the mouse. For the falcon eating the fish, the wolf for taking the sheep. But _you_ -” He cut himself off with a low noise and a pointed raising of his sword.

“I swear to _every_ deity, from Melitele’s grace to the inexorable gods of old, that you will _suffer_ for what you have done today. And if I didn’t have better things to attend to…” Jaskier watched with a strange sort of grief coiling in his heart as his witcher’s brow furrowed and his mouth thin with the emotion he was clearly struggling to keep in check.

“But I do. You have until sun down before I hunt you down.” The steel sword lowered with a look of absolute loathing on his face.

With his heart rabbit-quick and his breath nearly as fast, Jaskier started to edge away from the Witcher. Nose twitching with a scent that managed to _hurt_ with its intensity. He hadn’t been moving fast enough though. Geralt’s limited tolerance for his wary shuffling ran out and it ended up being his lunge towards him that spurred him into motion. Claws digging into the ground as his legs threw him into a crazed sprint into the trees. 

When fire licked up one of his back legs he could just barely make out the weighted _thud_ of a sword slamming into a tree over the yelp that escaped past the medallion still clenched between his teeth. But he kept running. He ran and he ran and he _ran_ while Geralt’s furied yell chased him.

And as his anguish rang in Jaskier’s ears he damned Geralt of Rivia. He damned him for being able to instill this all encompassing terror in him while still being his friend. But most of all, he damned him for being the type of man to be able to break his heart without even trying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry about the delay folks.

Things passed by in a blur after that. An understandable occurrence certainly, but frustrating nonetheless because by this point Jaskier wouldn't be at all surprised to find that he'd managed to turn himself around and was, as a matter of fact, running right back towards the Witcher.

Running.

How funny it was that just minutes, mere _moments_ , ago he'd been tripping over himself when walking the meager distance of a couple of feet. Adrenaline and blind terror had to count for something he supposed and if he had to suffer through that chilling rush to be able to _dodgeleapsprint_ through this infernal woodland...so be it.

He lost track of time, you can only keep track of so many trees in a forest after all, but there was the added benefit of that disconnect allowing this new body to settle into a rhythm that even with his inexperience he could _feel_ he could maintain for some time. Always a plus when fleeing a hunter. A plus that only remains so when he knew where he was running _too_. 

_Where could he possibly go?_

A witcher never stops, that's the whole _point_. It's their _thing!_ Nehalenia take pity on his unlucky soul bec-

Between one step- or was it a breath- and the next, the ground disappeared from beneath his aching feet. There wasn't even time to yell before he went tumbling down the merciless slopes of a creek bed. Slip-sliding through the leaf litter and general filth of a forest floor.

 _Well, that'd be a resounding no from Nehalenia then_. 

The creek he'd fallen into was nice at least. A quaint little thing that, had this been any other moment in his life, he would have loved to linger near for a least a day or two. Let the rays of sun bouncing along the rocks and water brighten up ideas he'd long forgotten. Let himself drift along to the sound of the babbling creek as it brushed up against the mossy stones and boulders scattered about. It really was a lovely spot. Yet, as life would have it this wasn't any other moment and so the sun dappled water imparted not light but the chill static of fear where it lapped at the bottom of his muzzle; mud seeped through his fur with the same crisp discomfort as walking across ghoul ridden ground. He knew he couldn't stay here much longer, for while his back leg said he'd been running too long, the sun said he hadn't run long enough. He knew what Geralt was like on a mission. He _knew_ , but he just wanted to cry. Surely he'd be allowed that much.

His leg sent another jolt of fire up his spine- _most unpleasant_ \- which forced him to give in and inspect it. Considering the weapon that caused it managed to impale itself into a tree, he figured he'd gotten off lightly even with how soaked with blood his flank was. Then again, it was entirely likely that the fur covered up most of the damage. He sure as shit wasn't going to lick it to see so frankly he'd take what he saw and well if mud worked when he was six it'd work again now. Granted the injury then had been the barest of scrapes and not a sword wound. Whatever, it didn't matter. He'd take what he had.

With a shuddering sigh that did nothing to avail the tightness in his chest and throat he sat up to walk a little further into the water. It may as well have been divine for how efficiently it soothed some of the ache when he sat. _Shit._ He still hadn't figured out where he was supposed to go. Out of the forest at the very least. Trying to outrun a witcher in a forest was idiocy at its finest, so open ground was his best bet. Put these new stilts for legs to proper use. Open ground may give Geralt some of the same advantages though and even if he thought he _himself_ was fast, he had no idea how he'd measure up against one on horseba-

 _Roach_.

Fuck, _bless her_. Geralt never went anywhere without her if he could help it. He'd _have_ to stop. He wouldn't be able to push through till he physically couldn't just to run down his target. That had been a truly damned week that neither Jaskier or his lower body could ever forget no matter how much they wished to.

_Think, Jaskier!_

Posada. A nice, out of the way, remote corner of the world that he could navigate in a pinch. And surely Geralt would have given up the chase in the time it took to even reach that desolate place.

Oh what was he thinking? As safe as Posada _might_ be if Jasker could reach it, the risks he'd be taking to get there very nearly negated any real benefit. Considering he'd left the town of Kagen in his wake pushing on nearly a week ago, the water he was sitting in was probably one of the many offshoots that fed into the Jaruga which meant he had two choices in getting to Posada. The long way or the short way. Left was the long way around the Mahakam range. It had the open ground he so desperately needed but twice as many villages and cities only for him to end up going right anyway. Worse, the short way took him past not only Rivia but _Vengerburg_ as well. That's not even accounting for the encroaching winter season.

A fox's bark had Jaskier jumping to all fours. Judging by how numb his leg now was he'd been sitting here for much longer than he had meant to. The canopy was too thick here to be useful but he could feel that creeping sense of doom start to build up in his chest just fine. _He was running out of time_.

There was a flicker-flash from the corner of Jaskier's eye and his head whipped around to look at it. A medallion. Specifically, the medallion that had found at the bottom of his satchel. Which meant it could only be one thing. With a frustrated hiss- _that's new_ \- he stomped over towards it. Lo and behold, shining amidst the muck was his viscount seal; the naiant fish of Kerack glinting darkly atop and the cross and ermine spotted field of Oxenfurt. _Of all the things he could have grabbed!_ Then again...the chain he had chosen for it those many years ago was made to be as long lasting as it was decorative. The small interconnected rings would undoubtedly pinch like the worst sort of ants, but he supposed it was better to be thought a pet than a beast.

It took a good minute or two to work the loop of chain over head, what with his ears deciding to be of no help whatsoever. His teeth still tingled from gripping it as tightly as he had so he definitely wouldn't be doing that again. Lesson learned.

With the seal as situated as it'd get, his fur uncomfortably bunch, and one last roll through the muddy shallows, he began his journey towards the Jaruga; following the water's current down and as close to the banks as he could manage it. Testing out his hearing to meet back up with it when he couldn't. His pace of brisk but tedious as he constantly slowed to work his way across the loose rocks and debris littering the banks. A precaution, he soon came to realize, he needn't have bothered with as every time he felt he was about to slip he could feel his paws scrunch down around the stones before the rest of him managed to compensate. Always an uncomfortable feeling when one's body does something without being told. Looked like running was back on the table.

Running and running and running away he went.

Running until the sun burned red and stained the forest orange; until the crickets and frogs took over for the robins and finches. He runs until his vision fades to murky purples, grays, and browns. Following the creeks and brooks down, down, down, until it starts to widen. He couldn't say for certain _how_ far he runs before he stops for the time being to walk in the shallower gravelly portions of the widening waterway. Instinct tells him he hadn't been running as fast as he could have however he _knows_ he's made good time. Good enough anyway. His leg won't let him put many more miles behind him, not at that pace. If he was going to keep move, he'd have to walk.

He'd been generous in his pauses to rest his leg and recoat himself in mud- if playing with his cousin and his hounds imparted any knowledge at all, it was that mud was confusing to the nose. He didn't think it'd matter much in the end. Unfortunately Geralt...Geralt was a bit smarter than his cousin's hunting hounds and seemingly far more driven too. Joy.

Really, it all boiled down to the lovely fact that he wouldn't have the luxury tomorrow that he did now. He'd have to run regardless of how his leg felt about the matter. Maybe he'd be able to sleep tomorrow? That'd be nice. He didn't dare try it now. Jaskier might've gotten a respectable distance between himself and Geralt for now, however his... _incomplete_ knowledge of all things Witcher left a lot to be desired. He felt sure enough to claim confidence on what a witcher on the hunt was like, but a _chase?_

Clueless. Jaskier was absolutely clueless.

If he took into consideration the emblem of his hunter, well...things didn't look so good for him now did they. Wolves were nasty creatures when they wanted to be.

 _Gods he's tired_. His brain hurt, his leg hurt, _he_ hurt, and to top it all off he was so disgustingly filthy that he felt like he crunched with every step. Walking provided only so much distraction and did nothing for the general 'doom and gloom' he was so carefully cultivating. Fuck it, he'll figure out which route to Posada he'd go once he reached the foothills of the Mahakam. Push comes to shove, he'll head towards Blaviken and camp out there for a while. Enough reports of monsters near that area made it more than clear that the town had still blacklisted the typical means of dealing with them. He just doesn't have enough energy to deal with it anymore.

Minutes pass as Jaskier walks. Then quarter hours and their halves. An hour and then several more. It gets darker- or _murkier_ possibly- which is his first hint of the passing time, followed quickly by the dropping temperature. One mile, then another and another slowly creep past at his limping pace until he finally has to admit to himself that going much further without at least a nap will only hurt him in the long run. Resigned and not at all pleased with _this_ turn of events or any of the others that have occurred, he walks until he finds an oak with enough gnarled roots that he can collapse between them and still have something guarding his flank.

The moment he had decided on a suitable place, he settled with a quiet groan beneath the slowly setting moon. Falling unconscious with all the swiftness of a rock dropped into still water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. As some of you may have noticed I spelled "Yaruga" as "Jaruga" (in regards to the river) this is because I'm using a bastardization mental map of two maps and for the sake of my sanity am just copying the spelling of one. If folks find it too jarring just let me know and I'll change it! If anyone's interested in which maps I'm using let me know. 
> 
> 2\. The Viscount Seal: "naiant" is the heraldic term for a fish in a typical swimming position (ie. horizontal). "ermine spots" are the three dots and dag, most commonly seen in black on a white background. "field" refers to the background of a heraldic device/coat of arms. (I'm also making up a lot of this as I go, please bear with me.)
> 
> Not a whole lot happened in this chapter which...sucks, but! I'm slowly remembering what I had planned for this, so there's that at least. And this chapter was a hole I couldn't get out of so for fear of digressing and detail that'd make Tolkien balk, I cut it fairly short. Hopefully the next will be longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the movie Labyrinth.


End file.
